


Beneath the Blue

by Nerd_of_Camelot



Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: (After) the Bad Guys Win, Age Difference, Background Relationships, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Good Slade Wilson, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mercenaries, Merpeople, Morally Ambiguous Robins, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Slade Wilson, SladeRobin Week 2020, Survival, merman dick grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerd_of_Camelot/pseuds/Nerd_of_Camelot
Summary: Day 2: (After) the Bad Guys Win |Sex Worker| MerfolkThe world went to total shit about fifteen years ago, when Lex Luthor and some of Arkham’s lessstupidprior inmates all decided they were going to unionize and take over together after forming a network that spanned the entire globe.Slade had been caught somewhere in the middle of all of that.He went wherever the money was until the initial struggle was over―the money, now, was in Gotham.So he was in Gotham.
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson & Slade Wilson, Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson, Jason Todd & Slade Wilson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Slade Wilson
Series: SladeRobin Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964563
Comments: 4
Kudos: 105
Collections: SladeRobin Week 2020





	Beneath the Blue

The world went to total shit about fifteen years ago, when Lex Luthor and some of Arkham’s less  _ stupid _ prior inmates all decided they were going to unionize and take over together after forming a network that spanned the entire globe.

Slade had been caught somewhere in the middle of all of that, being the best mercenary in the world but not having much interest in picking a side in the fight. He went wherever the money was until the initial struggle was over―Batman and Superman and all of those infallible heroes faded off. Maybe dead, maybe in hiding. Not seen in public for the last ten years, if nothing else.

And with them had gone all their little teen sidekicks, and it made Slade glad to know that Adeline had taken Grant, and Rose, and Joey, and gotten the fuck out of dodge. He felt a twinge at the idea of any of them having been lost in the scuffle for power.

But it made him wonder where Batman’s little Robin had gone.

He also felt a twinge at the idea that  _ that _ spirited little brat was lost.

Robin had had so much potential―he could have made a great hero one day, or a great mercenary.

But now there wasn’t much room for that, and Slade’s life overall hadn’t changed terribly much in the last fifteen years. He went where the money was, mostly, and the powers that be typically found no reason to attempt to sway him terribly much toward them―most understood he was not a polarized member of their society. Not with them, not against them, simply there with intent to continue surviving on a day to day basis.

The money, now, was in Gotham.

So he was in Gotham.

His most recent contract was up, and he was rather pleased with the money he’d received for it, and considering that (strangely enough) Gotham wasn’t quite so smoggy and disgusting these days he wasn’t exactly having a  _ bad _ time there. In fact, seeing as the people  _ living _ in Gotham weren’t the easily spooked type and Harley and Ivy had taken out Joker  _ years _ ago to take Gotham as their own, Gotham was  _ probably _ the prettiest and least polluted city on the planet, currently. Turned out there were a lot of Ivy sympathizers in what remained of the Bat’s stomping grounds, and that adding a few thousand more plants into the mix turned Gotham into a rather idyllic place.

He’d never have guessed, but the gothic architecture went  _ wonderfully _ with the whole solarpunk feel of not being able to scratch your nose without seeing solar panels or plants.

He was taking a rather leisurely walk around, reacquainting himself with Gotahm, and somehow this took him down to the docks.

Once a refuge for the homeless or the drug addicted (and, on most occasions, gang members or people such as him), the docks were now almost a respectable place. One of the many defunct warehouses had been transformed into a shelter, another into a public garden, and so on, but generally the place didn’t see terribly much traffic.

So it was nothing, really, to make it to a deserted dock and take a seat―even the water quality seemed to have gone up in the last ten years here in Gotham, because the bay didn’t look like sludge.

Very peaceful, really.

He may need to simply rest here for a few moments… A few hours, even.

It did seem he’d be mostly unbothered.

So he took a breath, closed his eyes, and centered himself. If nothing else, taking a few hours to simply sit here may help him keep his focus on his next contract, whenever he managed to get one… Which wouldn’t take long.

If there was one thing that hadn’t changed, it was that there was always someone willing to pay to have someone else killed.

He sat there for probably two hours before he heard a shift in the water that made him peek his eye open beneath his mask. Seeing nothing, he huffed and prepared to resume what he was doing, but…

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Said a voice that somehow he almost recognized, and opening his eye again he was struck by the  _ blue eyes _ now staring into him, “Slade Wilson.”

He gave up any pretense of continuing to meditate, turning to face the man who had appeared so suddenly at his side―it was obvious enough now that he was shirtless and wet, black hair plastered down by his exit from the water, and he was leaning on his arms on the dock, lower half still beneath the waves. And Slade thought, for a moment, that anyone willing to  _ swim _ in Gotham’s waters was not someone he wanted to get into a scrap with.

“Have we met?” He found himself asking―sure, his name was public knowledge, but generally people still called him Deathstroke when he was wearing the mask. Being called by his  _ name _ was…

Well, it wasn’t a  _ bad _ feeling, but it was an odd one.

“Not recently,” Was the man’s response, lips and one brow quirking up in amusement as he seemed to relax a little, “I’m sure you remember the person I was before Harls and Ivy moved in permanently, but its been a long time.”

“A vigilante then, I presume?” Slade asked, curiosity suitably piqued―but he’d be honest, this was the first conversation he’d had that wasn’t work related in  _ weeks. _

He was more interested than he wanted to be. And not just in what the man had to say.

“A damn good one, too,” Said the man in reply, looking  _ very _ pleased with himself, “First of my kind… There were a lot that came after me, though. I was a good idea.”

A damn good vigilante, first of his kind… A good idea that a lot of other people had.

Before Harley and Ivy took over.

“Robin,” He breathed, a little taken aback.

And the man’s face  _ lit up, _ pleased and proud as could be. And Slade thought, damn, Robin grew up.

And he grew up  _ well. _

Just look at that  _ face. _

“You  _ do _ remember me,” Robin grinned, tipping his head to the side in a  _ very _ flattering way that, really, just tipping his head shouldn’t manage. Maybe Slade was just too busy staring at his eyes and the strong jaw and the  _ scars, _ “What a relief. I thought everyone forgot.”

“Being remembered doesn’t do you much good in Gotham, I’d imagine.” Slade pointed out.

“Or anywhere else,” Robin agreed, but he continued to look pleased nonetheless.

“Should have known anyone willing to swim in these waters had to have a tougher upbringing than most.” He eventually said, with a pointed look at him.

He should  _ not _ be so caught up in watching the sun glint off his swiftly drying hair, or the droplets of water clinging to his muscled arms and chest… But here he was. Staring. Dragging his eyes over him and, if he wasn’t mistaken, making Robin  _ preen _ a little in the process.

And Robin waited until he was looking at his face again to reply, unbothered, “Oh, the water’s not so bad. Ivy’s done a  _ great _ job cleaning up the pollution.” But then he was hauling himself up onto the pier in front of Slade and―

Well, the long, scaled black tail explained him being in the water, but he didn’t recall Robin being water-locked in the past. Or him having a tail.

Still unbothered, Robin simply sprawled on his back, giving his tail a vague flick, and said, “Still the safest place in the city to be when you don’t want to be caught, though. You should join me sometime.”

Watching his tail through the motions revealed many of those black scales were actually red, or green, or yellow when the light hit them. Some were blue. And, well, there was the resemblance, he supposed. There was some of the Robin he’d known.

The rest of him seemed to be… Gone.

But, then, that was fifteen years ago, and Robin couldn’t have been older than ten at the time. Times had changed since then.

Slade certainly had.

Why wouldn’t Robin have changed?

“You know,” He found himself saying, “When I considered the idea of what may have happened to you after the struggle, you becoming a dock-dwelling hermit wasn’t one of the options I humored.”

“That’s what made it the perfect hiding place,” Robin snorted, flicking his tail again, “The tail wasn’t really  _ common knowledge, _ after all. Still isn’t.”

“You don’t seem concerned with keeping it secret,”

“Not with you, no,” Robin turned blue eyes on him again, and he seemed colder suddenly―eyes flatter in every possible way, lips no longer quirked up, “I’m sure you appreciate I’m simply trying to stay alive, same as you.”

“Of course,” He said, and maybe too quickly because Robin did  _ not _ look impressed, “Though I’m sure  _ you _ realize that that doesn’t necessarily keep you safe in a world like this.”

“Of course not.” Snorted Robin, “And maybe this seems like an idle threat, or something you don’t have to worry about, but if I find you’ve  _ made _ it public knowledge or led someone here, I  _ will _ skin you alive.”

“I  _ do _ heal fast enough that wouldn’t be terribly much of a concern,” He hummed, “But I don’t doubt you would do it. If not for  _ your _ safety, than for whoever else you’re hiding.”

It got another snort from Robin, but he seemed to relax a little bit.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” He finally said, “You’re clearly aware of both my names, and I’ve only had the honor of learning one of yours.”

Even as he said it, he watched Robin stretch out on the pier―arms extended above his head over the side of the dock, tail curling up under the other side. He may actually be taller than Slade, which would be something of an accomplishment… Although the majority of it may very well be that  _ tail. _ That black tail glistening red, blue, yellow, and green under the light of the sun.

“Dick,” He said, after a moment, looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he rolled onto his side and half-sat up. They were face to face, now, and only the mask on Slade’s face kept him from feeling Robin― _ Dick― _ ’s breath. “Dick Grayson.”

And several age-old questions found their answer in that moment.

The young age at which Robin joined the vigilante world, the skills he already had then―it only made sense that the orphaned son of the Flying Graysons would become  _ Robin _ after their deaths. Everyone knew there’d been foul play. A ten year old would  _ jump _ at the chance to do something to right the wrong. And the colors of his suit―the colors of their uniform.

… But now he had several more questions that needed answering at some point.

Like the tail, for instance.

“That makes far more sense than I expected it to,” He admitted, “And yet still raises far more questions than answers.”

Dick laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges in a very cute, very attractive way and Slade  _ wanted _ to smack himself for how attracted he was, but what would be the point? There were some things that simply didn’t matter in a world like this. Who he was attracted to and why was one of them.

“I’ve been told I’m good at that,” Dick said, rather unhelpfully, still smiling, “What brings you back to the not-so-dark city, anyway?”

“There’s always someone willing to pay to have someone else killed.”

“Fuck, dude, there sure is.” The younger snorted, “Could be three people left in the world…”

“And one would still pay another to make it two instead.”

Blue eyes squinted at him, then, “Where are you staying right now, anyway? Last I heard all the hotels were out of business until they got up to Ivy’s new codes.”

“Old safehouse,” He replied, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered―maybe it was just comforting to have someone who wasn’t ruling class to talk to, “Although Ivy  _ has _ mentioned she’d like to see all of them up to her codes as well.”

“She has the most reasonable demands, honestly.” Dick sighed, quirking his brows. Blue eyes traced the rest of the docks, and his lips pulled into a frown, “... Can I ask a favor? It’s nothing huge―a token, really.”

“I suppose that would depend on what you’d be doing in return.”

“I’m sure we’ll work something out. I’ve got very few hard limits.”

“Ask away, then.”

“You happen to see a kid a little younger than me with a bigass crowbar scar on his cheek, tell him to bring his ass home.” He paused, then snorted under his breath, “A kid. Like he’s not fucking  _ twenty. _ I feel so old.”

“You can imagine how I must feel, then.” Slade drawled, “Now am I simply to tell him that Robin says he needs to come home, or…?”

“Oh, he’ll know who had you say it.” Dick rolled his eyes, “We’ve all been Robin, so that wouldn’t do much good regardless.” He slipped off the dock and back into the water, keeping his head above the water long enough to say, “It was cool talking to you awhile. Let me know when you come up with an idea of what you want in exchange for that favor. I’ll be around.”

Slade didn’t even get a chance to reply before Dick was disappearing beneath the water with nary a splash.

What a  _ weird _ encounter.

Well, now he had a to-do list, at least. Find that “kid” and send him home to Dick, then come up with something for Dick to do for him in exchange… Not a tough task in either case, although coming up with something that didn’t involve  _ sex _ for the second might be a bit of an ordeal while his brain was so caught.

What could he say, though?

Dick was attractive.

As luck would have it (if, in fact,  _ luck _ had anything at all to do with it), he ran into Dick’s “kid with a bigass crowbar scar” on his way back to his safehouse less than an hour later.

He looked very much like Dick, if Slade was honest―dark hair (though his was clearly dyed), blue eyes, well-built… But he was taller, if Slade wasn’t mistaken, and broader in the chest and shoulders. Dick was very lithe, built like a dancer, and this one seemed more of a one-on-one fighter. And there was, of course, the curved imprint of the head of a crowbar on his left cheek, just below his eye, that looked like it had scarred over several years ago.

“Deathstroke,” He grunted in greeting as he attempted to pass, “Lovely weather, eh?”

“Indeed.” He said, then, “I believe it was  _ you _ I was meant to tell to… What were his words? ‘Bring your ass home’?”

The young man’s nose crinkled in distaste, “Ugh. Yeah, whatever. Thanks. I’ll tell the bastard you sent me.” He stopped midway through trying to pass him again, squinting before sticking a hand out, “Jason. By the way.”

Slade shook his hand. “Slade.”

Looking a little taken aback but not at all displeased, Jason blinked, but nodded, withdrew his hand, and turned to leave.

And Slade let him walk away.

Three months later, Slade found himself in Gotham again.

Not even for a job.

Just because he was curious.

(He did, of course, have some files he was taking to Ivy concerning modifications he intended to make to some of his Gotham safehouses, and which safehouses he was no longer using at all, but that wasn’t the primary reason for his visit.)

He hadn’t even made it back to the docks before he ran into Dick.

Dick, on two  _ long _ legs, in the middle of downtown Gotham with Jason a few steps behind, and a lanky black-haired, blue eyed teen leading the charge as he counted things off on his fingers. Dick seemed a little exasperated, but overall unbothered, and Jason just seemed bored.

And then Dick’s blue eyes were on him, blinking in surprise for only a brief moment before the surprise was gone. And, surprisingly enough to  _ Slade, _ it was replaced by something akin to happiness.

And then Jason noticed him, and then the teen in front of them did.

Jason seemed mostly surprised, but the teen seemed wary―reasonable, if not for the fact that Slade had no interest in hurting any of them… Even if only because he was attracted to Dick and wanted their relationship to remain… Amicable. It was hard to find those in this world.

Still, he approached the group even though the teen had gone eerily still and simply  _ stared _ at him as he did so.

“Slade,” Greeted Dick, grinning with an odd glint in his eye, “Good to see you. Thought of something for that favor I need to repay, or…?”

“Oh, I may have. It’s good to see you out and about, little Robin―I admit I was under the impression you were in hiding.” And when Dick stuck out his hand, eyes crinkling up under the force of a laugh, Slade took his hand and shook it. “Now, I’ve met Jason, but I don’t believe I’ve met  _ this one.” _ He turned to the teen.

The teen no longer looked quite as wary, though the wariness was definitely still present. It seemed that Dick being on good terms with him was worth its weight in gold with this one.

“Tim,” Said the teen, uneasily offering a hand, “And you’re Slade Wilson.”

“Indeed I am.” He shook Tim’s hand as well, watch the unease only intensify over the whole ordeal. “Not particularly trusting, are you, boy?”

“What person in their right mind is  _ trusting _ of anyone they meet in  _ Gotham?” _ Was how Tim chose to respond, nose crinkling.

“Oh, I like this one,” He said, to Dick, “Taking after the Bat and adopting, are we?”

“Something like that,” Said Dick in return, lips curving up in a smile once more, “When the world goes to shit you try to save as much of it as you can―or, at least,  _ I _ did.”

“A noble pursuit. You managed to save two?”

“Three if you count the demon brat.” Uttered Tim, not sounding thrilled, only to be gently elbowed in the ribs by Dick for his troubles.

“Demon brat?” Asked Slade, brows lifting and lips curving into an amused smile.

Admittedly, he was a little rusty at remaining impassive―he’d done so little business directly with people and so little business without the mask that he had stopped practicing. And now here he was. Smiling in front of one of the very people who, once upon a time, he would be better off trying to stab.

Not the worst thing that could happen, and if he was to keep the relationship amicable it couldn’t hurt to allow some real feelings to slip in… Surely.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose.

Not in  _ Gotham. _

Not in Harley and Ivy’s city.

It was probably the best city in the world, even by pre-‘apocalypse’ standards. Everyone was fed, everyone had electricity and running water… Crime was  _ way _ down because of Ivy’s killer plants, and Lex and the other villains wouldn’t step  _ foot _ here if their lives depended on it because of both the plants and Harley, who did  _ not _ take kindly to people muscling in on her and her wife’s territory.

Anyway.

“Funny story, that,” Said Dick, pulling him from his thoughts, “Turns out that before everything went to hell, Bats managed to hook up with Talia al-Ghul. Since he’s MIA and she’s got a League to run after Ra’s got entombed by Croc last year, she came to find me and dropped the kid off since, way she sees it, he’s safer in Gotham than with the League.”

“How old is he?” Slade’s brow lifted.

“About thirteen.” Dick rolled his blue eyes, “Makes me wonder when the hell Bats had the time to fuck between trying to keep himself and me alive, but he was a man of many talents. I guess fucking in secret was one of them.”

“Was.”

“Was,” Confirmed Dick, unperturbed, “I’ve been operating under the assumption that he’s dead for ten years.”

“You two are… Weirdly friendly,” Jason finally butted in, looking between them uneasily.

Slade could think of no reply to give, but Dick just smiled and quirked his eyebrows. “How so? It’s not like we’re on different sides or anything.”

“Still, that’s… You know. Deathstroke. I thought you weren’t fond of mercenaries?”

“I believe my words were, ‘I don’t care for hired guns’, or something like that.” Dick snorted, then looked at Slade, “And there are always exceptions.” And after almost making a  _ show _ of sweeping his eyes up and down Slade’s form he smirked and looked away, “Especially when said hired gun could actually take me in a fair fight.”

But somehow Slade knew it wasn’t the ‘fair fight’ bit that made him an exception.

Not even close.

But Jason was rolling his eyes like he believed that to be the truth  _ completely, _ and Tim seemed to relax a little in the face of what Dick had to say about him. Even if it wasn’t anything reassuring.

So, yes. Dick’s trust (and affection) for him were worth their weight in gold to Tim, if not to Jason as well.

And they spent a while simply standing there, socializing. Talking like normal people. And Slade actually quite enjoyed it, if he was honest―it had been a very long time since he was willing and able to simply… Exist with others. Be ‘himself’.

Dick’s presence certainly helped.

And when he left, at last, it was only after handing off his files to Dick after learning he was going to talk to Ivy and Harley anyway (for whatever reason―Slade chose not to stick his nose where it didn’t belong) and telling him to consider them even. Dick had just laughed, but nodded.

And he’d taken the files, waved, and then taken his two little birds and left, and Slade did the same.

He saw him again that very night, and he learned within moments of  _ that _ particular meeting that Dick did not like beating around the bush and he wasn’t interested in playing hard to get, or having Slade play it.

Which was fine by Slade, because he preferred the straightforward approach as well.

Which is how they fell into bed together and worked out their mutual attraction that very night.

Was there anything more than attraction to it? Not at this stage.

But there may be, at some later point.

Slade was willing to maintain the relationship in order to find out, and Dick, on being asked about it, said he was interested in seeing where it might go.

So they settled on being something along the lines of friends with benefits for the time being, and that was where they stood.

Six months into knowing Dick Grayson and two of his three little birds, Slade was introduced none-too-kindly to the third, with little warning.

Because Dick came rolling through one of his safehouse windows with a kid no older than fourteen tucked into his chest, both of them bleeding, and barked something to Slade about hoping he was good with mouthy teenagers as he sat down the kid, hissed something in his ear that made him grimace but remain there on the ground, and promptly went back out the window.

The window high above the main floor of the warehouse safehouse.

Slade didn’t even  _ want _ to know how Dick had managed, and instead went about grabbing his first aid supplies and going to the teenager on the floor. It was not Tim, he could tell, partially because he looked far too young to be Tim (even with that boy’s youthful face) and partially because he was built more like Dick than Tim was―like a dancer. Tim was lanky.

And, seeing as this one was dressed in a far more armored version of Dick’s old Robin suit, Slade thought it safe to assume that this was Damian, the youngest bird.

‘We’ve all been Robin’, after all.

“Deathstroke,” Grunted the teen, and though his face remained pinched in displeasure (and probably pain), he did nothing but move his arm to allow Slade access to the wound on his side.

“Damian,” He greeted in response.

There was no further talking until after he’d gotten Damian out of the top half of the suit and had begun to work on cleaning the gash running from his hip to just below his armpit.

“I’m amazed this got through your armor. I expect better of anything Dick has had a part in making.” Slade couldn’t help saying, because even the not-possibly-older-than-twelve Dick that he’d met before everything went to shit had been smarter than was believable, and very adaptable.

“It was a cheap shot,” Damian grunted in reply, nose wrinkling further in a very unflattering way, “The pathetic mongrel managed to hook a sickle under the lowest plate armor and rip upwards.”

“And they were disposed of, I hope?”

Admittedly, Slade still wasn’t sure exactly what Dick got up to these days. Clearly he and his birds still needed the Robin mantle, and clearly they still got up to enough shenanigans that they needed to have a safehouse even he couldn’t know the location of… But that didn’t tell him much. Part of him hoped that Dick was still playing hero, but the larger part realized that was unlikely.

And that even if he  _ was, _ he was no longer playing by Batman’s rules.

Still, he couldn’t imagine the little Robin as a killer―Jason and Damian, perhaps, because Jason had the cold look of a killer in his eyes and Damian was the blood of Talia and Ra’s al-Ghul. But Dick and Tim didn’t seem it, and knowing Dick had been raised, even ever so briefly, under Batman’s “no killing” rule made it feel unlikely no matter what had happened.

So he was interested to know what had happened to someone who had hurt the littlest bird like this, especially if it led to Dick dropping him here for medical treatment from Slade.

But the way that Damian’s lip curled up into a smirk told him a lot all by itself.

“Of course. Todd and Grayson would not allow a sleight like that to go unpunished.” Damian looked away, wincing minutely, as Slade dragged the alcohol wipe over his ribs, then continued, “If Grayson had not been so set on getting me out of the situation, he would have taken that idiot apart before Todd had the chance to move in his direction.”

“I suppose you mean that quite literally.” Because, really, Damian did not seem prone to hyperbole or metaphor.

“Of course.” Damian snorted.

“Interesting.”

So, a note to be made: Dick was protective.

And another: Dick would kill for his birds.

Good qualities to have in a potential partner.

“And to think he called you mouthy,” Slade found himself rolling his eye as he finished sewing up the gash with nary a complaint from Damian the whole time.

“I try not to make a habit of insulting those who are giving me medical treatment.”

“A good plan.” And without further ado, he picked the teen up from the ground (to his clear displeasure) and placed him atop the extra bed he already had set up just in case.

He imagined he would need the others set up soon.

He may as well get to work.

He got the feeling Damian wasn’t the only one who was going to need somewhere to lay tonight.

And he had just finished up setting up two other beds (the only two he intended to set up, because the way he saw it Dick would likely end up in his bed whether anything happened or not) when Dick came back in through the window, sauntered to the front door like he owned the place, opened it, and let a beleaguered looking Jason and a limping Tim in.

And Slade simply motioned Tim toward one of the beds and retrieved his first aid supplies once more, because he could tell even from here that his leg needed more than just an icepack and to not be used―it probably needed stitches.

And only after he had finished up with the first aid endeavors on Tim and Jason (the latter of whom had  _ far more _ injuries than Slade had expected) did he get a chance to so much as talk to Dick.

Dick was waiting for him next to the wall that led to his bedroom, hand on his side over the area Slade had seen bleeding earlier, and he looked tired even with the domino mask covering his eyes.

“Sorry for the lack of warning,” Dick said, as he pushed off the wall and allowed Slade to wave him on into the room, “Our only safehouse was compromised. Had to get what we could and get somewhere safe.”

Something squeezed in Slade’s chest at the realization that this,  _ his safehouse, _ was somewhere Dick felt safe. And, more than that, somewhere he felt his birds were safe enough he’d  _ bring them here. _ Even just recently having had the realization of how protective Dick was of his birds, he had always sort of known, and he understood that aside from staying alive Dick’s one goal was keeping them safe.

And he felt they were safe with  _ Slade. _

Still.

When Dick had sat down on Slade’s bed and slid his own suit (very different than the one that Slade had seen in the past―black with a blue bird symbol over the chest, wings sliding all the way down the sleeves in stripes to his fingers) down to his waist, Slade approached.

“I don’t mind,” He admitted, honestly, “Were you able to get everything important?”

“Mm,” Dick nodded, “For the most part, at least. Had to leave a few pictures, but I figure I can go back for those and hunt down whoever took any that are missing.”

Slade looked him over―no serious injuries that he could see, though Dick was bruising in several places. The bleeding spot he’d seen earlier was little more than a shallow cut that had since scabbed, just below his ribs on the right side.

He cleaned it anyway, and Dick didn’t so much as wince.

“Damian mind his fuckin’ manners while you were helping him?” Dick finally asked, after he’d peeled his domino off and allowed Slade to pull his suit the rest of the way off.

From anyone else, it probably would have come off as annoyed… But Dick just sounded fondly amused.

“I received no backtalk at all,” Slade snorted, “He said he tries not to make a habit of insulting those who are giving him medical treatment.”

“He’s learning,” Sighed Dick, only to descend into tired chuckles, “Finally. Awesome.”

He’d clearly been awake longer than he should have by now―the dark circles under his eyes looked more like honest-to-God bruises, like he’d been struck. And the way his gaze slid around the room without settling told Slade the same thing they did. He was uneasy, unable to sleep. Who knew how long he’d been trying to get all the important things out of his and his birds’ safehouse and having to fight to ensure their safety in the process.

“... You happen to have a decent sized tub?” Dick finally asked, after a long silence, “I could use a soak.”

“One of the few luxuries I allow myself,” He snorted, helping Dick up and letting him lean on him all the way to the en suite bathroom, “I’ll run it for you, just sit.”

And Dick’s lips quirked, just a little, and he sat down on the lid of the toilet seat without an argument. He stayed there, silently watching, while Slade went about filling the tub. And Slade tried not to watch him in return, tried to keep his eye on the task, but…

Well, the tub filling was going to take a moment.

He turned to Dick and leaned down, brushing his lips against Dick’s forehead, then his lips when Dick obligingly lifted his head to meet him.

Needless to say, they spent the next couple of moments swapping kisses that were… More chaste than anything Slade had been interested in in a  _ long _ time.

But it was nice, just…

Kissing.

With no expectation on his part of  _ more, _ no need to turn it into anything else.

But then the tub was more or less full, and he was helping Dick into it, and as soon as his lower half had settled… Well, Slade blinked and where legs had been a tail now was. Huh.

“So only when you’re in water, or…?”

“It’s a conscious choice unless I’m in water,” Dick corrected, settling into the warm water with a contented sigh, “Takes some focus to not end up with a tail in water, and I’m fresh out of that.”

“I’d imagine. You look exhausted.”

Dick merely hummed, and Slade took that for exactly what it was.

And out in the main room Dick’s birds were settled in for however long they would be here, and Slade’s bed was more than big enough for he and Dick to share, and he…

Well.

Admittedly?

He was looking forward to being able to lie in bed watching Dick sleep.

Did that mean he’d gone and caught feelings?

Probably.

Six months was plenty of time.

“Hey, Slade?” Dick asked, as they settled into the bed much later that night, with Dick in one of Slade’s old t-shirts and it was  _ huge _ on him and Slade sort of wanted to eat him alive but was refraining because he really just wanted to be comfortable.

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

And Slade looked at him,  _ really _ looked. Saw those tired, beautiful blue eyes, those dark circles, the heavy eyelids that looked a moment from dropping closed. The mild wrinkles that had already developed between his brows, the crows feet at the corner of his eyes, the frown lines beginning to take shape at the corners of his mouth. The  _ trust _ in those exhausted eyes, the relief both there and in his body language as he curled against Slade’s side there in bed.

He had been in charge for a long time, Slade realized.

He’d been taking care of his birds and himself since Batman disappeared  _ eleven years ago, _ and he couldn’t be any older than twenty-six, meaning he couldn’t possibly have been more than fourteen or fifteen when he was left alone in the world by Batman’s disappearance.

Beneath that blue, he was hiding a lot of pain, wasn’t he?

“Of course, my little Robin.” He kissed his forehead, steeled himself, and said, “Stay as long as you need.”

Dick smiled.

Buried his face into his neck and, in the most complete display of trust anyone had given Slade since before Adeline left him, fell right to sleep.

And Slade told himself, very seriously, that he was going to protect him and his birds. No matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> can almost guarantee there'll be more of this AU eventually - i love it too much to leave it here
> 
> there was originally gonna be more to this one (like, a whole other chapter from Dick's POV) but this was already like almost 6K words and it's 10PM so
> 
> oop


End file.
